


A Doomed Union-Part I

by Seicopath (RileyLux)



Series: A Doomed Union: The Soldat and the Spider [1]
Category: Marvel, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Hydra, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Bucky Barnes, Red Room (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyLux/pseuds/Seicopath
Summary: Held hostage following his fall, Bucky Barnes is forced into HYDRA's Wolf Spider Program. As HYDRA joins with the KGB to mold the prisoner-made-cadet into the ideal super-soldier, Barnes is paired with a Red Room student, Natalia Romanova.
Relationships: Winterwidow
Series: A Doomed Union: The Soldat and the Spider [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787050
Kudos: 3





	A Doomed Union-Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set within an alternate universe that has elements of the canon but twists time and circumstance to create a fresh perspective.

As he stands at attention, steel seemingly fused with the spine, the young man's muscles scream, tendons and ligaments strained beyond what the average human body can tolerate. The sergeant's body, skin paled by the Russian winter, is littered with bruises, his torso painted in hues of navy and violet from sparring sessions against an elder student in the Wolf Spiders Program. As the trainer approaches, the fine muscles lining the cadet's smooth jaw tenses and he forces his fingers to relax, fighting their urge to fist and crack against the man's jaw. 

Each falling snowflake bears an icy sting as it lands on the cadet's bare flesh, the delicateness of the element concealing passive violence, and only his left shoulder and arm numb to the environment. No matter how much or often he is beat, the cadet cannot break the habit of speaking out of turn. 

"Вы терпите Мать-Россия с каждым дыханием, мальчик (You fail Mother Russian, boy)," the instructor growls, the stench of salted meats and tobacco causing the cadet's nose to wrinkle. 

"Тем не менее, я все еще избиваю всех, кого вы против меня (Yet, I still beat everyone you set against me)," he returns, the fear of punishment long absent, before a near indiscernible smirk curl his lips, "And my name's not 'boy', it's Bucky." 

The older male, his charcoal uniform stark against the snowy courtyard and silver buttons gleaming from care, lifts a black-gloved hand, the fingers bending towards the palm a silent order for the guards positioned fifteen feet away to approach. A verbal order is not given, gloved hands simply wrapping around Bucky Barnes' arms, the chill of his skin penetrating the leather barrier, before dragging him from the courtyard into the confines of the adjacent building. The descent to the structure's bowels, and the cell within which the prisoner will be locked again, occurs in silence, Barnes' features stoic with the rage burning within him caged. 

Hours later, it is the groan of metal against metal that wakes Bucky from a fitful slumber, guards wrenching open the cell door to shine a spotlight on the battered body of cadet sprawled on the cot. The arm flung over his face lowers, sky blue eyes adjusting to the light now spilling through the bars before shifting to the grey-streaked brunette standing on the opposite side of the cell bars. 

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 his mind reminds, the pang of fractured ribs as he rolls to a seated position causing a sharp inhale and jaw to tense. 

"Fuck," he mumbles, tongue slipping over parched lips before he shakily stands. Beneath the scratchy cotton of his grey uniform, the super-soldier serum courses through his battered body, altering him on a cellular level and triggering muscles to gain strength and mass while also enhancing his senses. The cadet stares at the headmistress, her pale face and black dress melding with the monotony of grey-hued walls, floors, and uniforms. The headmistress speaks, her English heavily accented by her Russian tongue, 

"You will train with one of the girls. A simple mission to determine if either of you have value." The woman's heels click as she walks closer to the cell's bars, the metal surface dulled with age. 

Bucky lunges from the cot, aching muscles groaning, and crosses the cell's space within less than a second, the serum already gracing him with near preternatural speed. He does not pause to consider the gravity of his actions nor the potential ramifications of the Fist of HYDRA attacking Madam, the Red Room's director, but simply reaches through the cell's bars, metal fingers curling around her wrinkled neck. As he drags her to him, the woman's forehead pressing against the cool metal bars, he snarls,

"I'm not your pet, lady, and I'm not a traitor, so forget it." 

The young American's thumb presses against her throat, gradually restricting the headmistress's airway until a guard's baton delivers a pain that seems to vibrate within his bones. The reprimand only serves to refocus Bucky, the fingers wrapping around the cell bar, the metal bending beneath his touch. Never has the young man carried such fury within him as he does now as if the serum unlocks a beast that civil society managed to restrain through lessons proper decorum. As iron bends to his will, the cadet jerks the cell door towards him, metal groaning as it bows on its tracks. The onslaught is cut short by the shock of electricity, a prod slipping through the bars for the sharp prongs to press against his neck. The jolt thunders through Bucky, cybernetic fingers clenching before buckling and he collapses onto the concrete floor.


End file.
